Through Darkness
by TheDudeJDCT
Summary: Five days ago, Uchiha Itachi decimated his own clan. Now he is pursued across Fire Country by ANBU and bounty hunters. Who will find him first, and will they regret it?
1. Chapter 1

* * *

Here is the first chapter of my first Naruto fic. Hope you ladies and gents enjoy this first bit, you can count on more soon.

Sadao is pronounced 'Sa-day-oh'. A chawan is a tea bowl. Tsuba is the metal guard on a katana, just above the grip. A saya is a katana scabbard.

Do not be angry that Itachi has yet to materialize; he will make his appearance in time!

* * *

-1-

Uchiha Fugaku had a wide chin and a noble grimace on his face, not smiling per se but expressing his filial pride through a subtle twist of his jaw. His wife, on the other hand, smiled prettily from under straight black hair -- her name was Mikoto. Fugaku himself was darker of skin, his hair touched by a hint of brown.

In front of his father was a smiley kid, face pale as his mother's and hair the same color exactly. It was clear which side Uchiha Sasuke favoured -- even his childish grin was a mirror image of the woman's.

Sadao frowned and leaned in at the photograph.

Itachi was a different story again than his brother. The oldest Uchiha son wore a scowl as dark as his father's on a face one shade lighter. His hair was dark enough brown to look black under most light, and yet his chin and cheeks were sharp like those of his mother and brother.

If Sadao had been asked to identify the psychopath murderer in the photograph, be probably would have pointed to Itachi, but then that was a stretch in itself. Itachi just looked the most sullen out of a decently happy looking family.

Sadao looked up as the waiter arrived with his tea. He accepted the steaming drink and took a brief slurp -- jasmine flavoured, shot up his sinuses instantly -- before setting the chawan on the table. The photograph had caught the light again. A hazy white blob sat on Fugaku's face, so Sadao flattened the photo down with one finger and leaned forward.

He wondered, again, why they'd given everybody this particular photo. Surely there were official pictures of Itachi around. The kid probably had dozens of school pictures, graduation pictures, ANBU pictures. Sadao thought again. Maybe ANBU members were erased from the records; he didn't know much about ANBU but that didn't seem unreasonable.

Maybe they hoped that this photo would invoke some kind of deep rage within the hearts of those they gave it to, to imagine this perfectly ordinary nuclear family shattered. Sadao snorted with disdain. The reward money alone should have been enough incentive for most.

Right now, Itachi was the most valuable missing-nin in the world.

When Sadao went to register himself, the line had stretched all the way outside Konoha's mission bureau. He stood behind a young group who complained loudly of the wait and the heat, and talked about what they were going to spend the reward on. A trickle of people were coming out in the opposite direction, some in groups, some alone, all bearing a couple of scrolls and one photograph.

The clerk inside had given him a brief once over when he finally arrived at one of the three desks reserved for the line of bounty hunters.

"You're not going to get the reward," she said finally, with a small chortle.

"Is that what you tell everyone?" he had asked.

"If anyone gets Uchiha Itachi, it'll be the ANBU squads. I don't know what they're thinking posting a reward."

Sadao shrugged. "Not your job to worry your pretty little head. Just sign me up."

The clerk raised delicate black eyebrows at _pretty little head_, but said nothing. She shrugged and whipped out a pen.

"Name?"

"Sadao."

She gave him a look. "Family or given?"

"Both. Neither. It's my only name."

She chortled again, shook her head. She had black hair, tied up in a bun, and a head protector with the Konoha leaf engraved on it.

"And you're alone?" She sounded amused.

"Yes."

"Very well," she rolled up a scroll for him, handed it to him, and then another. "Don't get in ANBU's way. Matter fact, don't get in the Uchiha's way either. Go home and forget you ever saw or heard of a reward."

Sadao twitched one shoulder in a shrug.

"No," he said.

She extended a small hand, and in it was the photograph. She wore a wry frown. "Good luck, then."

That was a week ago. Now Sadao sat in a restaurant beside the dusty streets of Shikuba, sipping tea. He'd looked over the scrolls days ago, of course. They explained Itachi's career in detail, his strengths, but failed to mention a weakness of any kind. Sadao wasn't worried. He downed the last of his tea and placed the chawan on the table, watching the little green flecks dance in the last drop at the bottom.

Apparently Itachi had spared his little brother. Sadao hunched again over the photo, this time focused on the child. His smile was genuine and unbridled as children's smiles were wont to be. Why had Itachi killed everyone in his family except for his brother? Love?

Sadao supposed that Itachi had to be crazy. It seemed the easiest explanation if not the most in-depth, but Sadao didn't really want to understand Itachi anyway. Just to kill him. The reward would be given for Itachi's death or his return to Konoha as a prisoner, but Sadao knew ANBU would be aiming to kill anyway. Simpler and less dangerous, surely.

A waitress in a frilly apron came around, arriving at Sadao's table with a teapot and a pretty smile. Nodding, Sadao absently gestured at his empty chawan and she topped it off. As she withdrew with a slight bow, Sadao saw the door swing open and three individuals enter the restaurant. He thought they looked familiar.

A waiter led the trio to a booth across from Sadao's, and they settled in, placing orders Sadao couldn't hear. The waiter nodded, moved off, and then the only woman in the group pulled something from inside her cloak; Sadao recognized it. The woman placed the photo of the Uchiha family on the table and shook her head slightly, her straight red hair trembling with the movement. Her skin was pale and clear. Her companions were both men; the one beside her had a shaved head under a bandana, and the man across the table was tanned like a farmer, his black hair coarse and long over his neck.

Sadao was gently surprised to see them, but immediately he reasoned it out. With that many people in line at the mission building in Konoha, the few cities around the hidden village were likely filled with Itachi-hunters by now.

The woman spoke, pulling her red hair behind her ear with one finger. "He's the handsome kid on the right side, correct? What a shame. Under different circumstances I'd like to bed him."

The shaggy haired man grinned. "You'd bed most anything. Why not him? Just 'cuz he's a killer?"

She shook her head. "Because we have to kill him. Can't mix business and pleasure."

The man with the shaved head spoke slowly. "What did the old man say when you showed him the photo?"

The red-head grinned, flashing teeth the color of cream. "He said he'd definitely seen him. He was real quiet apparently, but polite."

The black haired man visibly shuddered. "The Uchiha kid scares me. Someone who could do what he did and still act the way people say he does. Creeps me out, what must be going through a mind like that."

The woman extended a single white finger to flick the man's forehead in annoyance. "Shut up, Yuka. He's just one prematurely good ninja kid. Nothing the three of us can't handle."

Sadao sat and watched them. He reached for his tea, calmly, without looking at it. Sadao wondered what it was that made them confident. Had any of them ever fought a ninja?

"We have to find out where exactly in the city he is," said the bald man.

The waiter arrived, then, with three bowls of udon, three tumblers and a large bottle of sake. There was momentary silence as the trio dug in, and Sadao turned his attention back to the photo. He frowned. Itachi was _here? _It seemed too lucky to be true. Sadao had set out the very day he had received the photo and scrolls, heading for Shikuba -- rumours placed the young Uchiha on the road east. Sadao contemplated following these three to see what they found, if anything.

When the waitress returned to fill Sadao's chawan a second time, he took a brief sip and then grimaced. The jasmine was bitter and concentrated -- he was drinking from the bottom of the teapot. He waved away the serving-girl's ineffectual attempts to beg his pardon. He liked his tea strong anyway. The three across from him were drinking their sake with devotion, speaking little. Sadao pulled a scroll from his pocket and carefully rolled the photo of the Uchiha family up inside it. He replaced the scroll inside his cloak.

Sadao stood up. He was six feet tall and his cloak was the color of sand. It flowed down from a high collar he had unbuttoned for tea, obscuring his body underneath its coarse folds. Sadao's hair was a shade lighter than black, short, and his eyes were brown pools in his pale face. Sadao's hand emerged through a gap in his cloak, and it placed several coins on the table. Then he came around his table and headed for the door.

It was chilly and dark outside, so Sadao buttoned his collar up and hunched his shoulders, making tracks for the hotel. With each step he could feel the scrolls bounce against his hip. The moon was huge and white, glowing. He could make out each grey valley or depression on its surface, hundreds of thousands of miles away. Sadao walked into his hotel and ascended one flight of wooden steps. His footsteps creaked on the floor. He stood in darkness and unlocked his room, then went inside and shut the door. His longbow and leather quiver lay on the bed where he had left them.

He undressed and went into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Sadao awoke the next day beneath the warm heaviness of a good night's sleep. He lay awake in the large bed for an indefinable period of time, then all at once threw the covers back and hit the cold linoleum floor with his bare feet. 

Diffuse white light seeped in around the corners of the curtain as he dressed himself. The beige cotton pants went on first, then the soft tabi boots which he wrapped around his calves and tied tight overtop the trousers. Lastly he donned a light v-necked shirt and swept the cloak over his shoulders. He shoved his katana behind his belt and clipped the small quiver to his waist, then slung the longbow over one shoulder. He checked out of the inn, bought black tea and muffins for breakfast, and headed into the midday heat of the Fire Country.

Shikuba bustled during the daytime. The street vendors were all out, their stalls which had been hidden or locked up during the night all bright and flashy, seemingly competing for the prize of most vibrantly painted sign. The sun beat down on Sadao's face and neck, so he dropped five ryo on a wide straw hat.

He tried to imagine a psychopath killer lurking somewhere in this city, but whenever he was on the cusp of visualizing this sort of thing it slipped away. What was Itachi's goal? Sadao shook his head suddenly, willing himself to give up on trying to understand his young target. Itachi was insane. That was all. There would be no predicting him, no rationalising his actions.

When Sadao bought his hat, he showed the vendor the photo of the Uchiha family. He wasn't surprised when the man shook his head disinterestedly. Sadao moved down the street, stopping intermittently to ask people if they'd seen Itachi. It only took him a few minutes to fully regret not tailing his three rivals from the restaurant. He might have given up the only lead he would ever get. He continued on futilely, and the sun gradually tracked across the sky. Finally, when Sadao was barely even paying attention, the middle-aged woman he'd been talking to leaned forward in interest, staring at the photo.

"The one on the right, you say?"

Sadao twitched, suddenly attentive. "Yeah. That's the one. Uchiha Itachi, mass murderer."

The woman bit her lip and shuddered, "if only I'd known, I would have acted differently."

Sadao leaned forward coaxingly. "You mean you've seen him?"

She nodded, and all of Sadao's hairs seemed to leap to attention.

"I said good morning to him just yesterday…" she put a hand to her chest, clearly affected. Sadao wasn't looking; he cast his eye furtively around, as though expecting Itachi to spring out of nowhere with a bloody sword. "he went into that Inn," the woman pointed.

Sadao was already walking. His hand, inside his cloak, was on his sword. His thumb pressed against the tsuba, feeling its cold iron weight. He went quickly into the Inn and made for the front desk. The man there had a black moustache and looked up in surprise at Sadao's fast approach.

Sadao's right hand shot down the sleeve of his cloak and came up holding the photo. "Uchiha Itachi, bottom right. He here? He's a dangerous criminal. Mass murderer."

The man leaned in, looked at the photo, did a double take.

"Why… yes…that's him," he looked taken aback. "He's been here for two nights, never said a word, and I didn't see him leave today… murderer, you say?"

Sadao nodded, finger rapping impatiently on the dark wooden desk.

"What room?"

The clerk was momentarily silent. He seemed reluctant to give away his client's private information. Sadao was infuriated. "Room number," he said. "Now. No time for this." He shifted his balance as he said so, and his cloak swung open to reveal his left hand, white knuckled on his katana.

The man stared at the sword for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "Right. He's on the ground floor, room seven -- that way -- " he pointed.

Sadao all but ran down the hallway. He checked room numbers hastily as he went. Three… four… five…

A couple of women lunged out of his way as he barrelled down the hallway with his hand on his sword, and then the number seven loomed on a door, the brass -wrought numeral glittering dully. Sadao's heart hammered in anticipation. Now that he was here, he paused. He tested his chakra, sending it flickering throughout his body for the first time in months. Sadao removed his sword from his belt and held it in his left hand, his right ready to draw it from the saya.

Then he kicked the door in.

It flew open and slammed into the wall on the other side. Sadao charged in after it, already feeling the chakra buzzing through him in the precursor to a combat-high. His muscles tensed and his senses hummed in activity as he scanned the room.

It was empty. The bed was made.

Three seconds after his revelation, the window on the far wall burst inwards in a cloud of glass. Sadao didn't even really get a good look -- he had kicked in a bit of chakra induced speed and flung himself into the bathroom, was kneeling on the linoleum, listening. He heard booted feet hitting the wooden floor in the room like a drumroll -- more than one pair.

He heaved his longbow off his shoulder with his sword-hand and grasped an arrow between the thumb and forefinger of his right. He nocked it backwards, slapping it onto the left side of the sword just above where his fingers clamped the katana and bow together. He drew the bowstring back, resting his four fingers on his cheek, and stepped back into the room.

It wasn't Itachi.

Sadao sighed in disgust and lowered the bow. He eased the tension but kept the arrow nocked, facing the ground, not threatening but definitely there.

The three from the restaurant stared at him in obvious surprise.

"What are you doing here?" the red-haired woman had the density to ask.

Sadao ignored her and moved towards them, looking around the room for any sign of Itachi. He had slid the closet door open with one foot -- empty -- and was kneeling beside the bed when he felt her approaching.

Her hand missed his shoulder by an inch, and she looked at him in surprise. "What -- "

"He's been gone for hours, or maybe was never here," Sadao interrupted, fuming. "maybe he checked in here, making no effort at deception, making sure people saw him, and then immediately left the city without anyone knowing."

"Oh," she said stupidly. "You're after the Uchiha kid."

"He's smart," Sadao admitted, already walking away from the woman. "Or maybe this was all just a colossal misunderstanding."

Sadao turned his back on the trio, removing his arrow from the bowstring. He dropped it back into the quiver at his belt and slung the bow back over one shoulder. He replaced his katana behind his belt. On his way out, the man at the desk looked at him expectantly, but Sadao ignored him.

Itachi had surely left the city, perhaps as long as two days ago.

Which direction was he likely to head in? Sadao mused on that one for a long while. The ANBU squads and bounty hunters would be moving out methodically from Konoha, their search unfolding like a blooming flower in all directions. Anyone else would probably be fleeing from the general vicinity of Konoha as quickly as possible.

That afternoon, Sadao left through the south gate of Shikuba.

He headed back for Konoha.

* * *

His first night in the forest, Sadao shot a deer with his bow and cut out its guts with his sword; then he skinned about half the animal, cut out its flank, rump, and round, and dropped the pieces of raw meat in a cloth sack, about a quarter full of salt, that hung from his belt. He made two fires in two fire pits, about a hundred feet from each other, waited until they were hot, then kicked them apart. He roasted the venison on the hot coals, half the meat in each fire pit. He himself waited in the darkness between the two fires, intermittently emerging into the light to turn over the meat. 

After the venison was cooked satisfactorily, Sadao speared the chunks with his katana and dropped them back into the salted bag. He left both fires simmering and walked three hundred paces away into the forest.

Sadao ate one of the pieces of deer and drank from a flask of water, in the darkness, then cleaned his katana with a damp rag, dried it, and sheathed it. He climbed a tree and hung the sack of venison from a branch, then went to sleep on the dirty ground under his cloak, ensuring that no body part, nor even his hat, remained visible outside it.

This time, he did dream. Whether it was the uncomfortable conditions or something else, Sadao dreamed of death. He saw pale clammy hands and limbs, floppy and boneless. They lay in the mud, encrusted with filth, and their eyes all stared at him, wide-irised inhuman portals of black glass.

The chill woke him, and a cacophony of morning birdsong. Dew saturated his cloak; it clung to his body clammily, making him shiver. He lay still for a few moments, listening, then flung the cloak back and rose in a single motion, katana clasped in his left hand. Steel-coloured light bathed the forest. The ferns and bushes drooped, droplets of water forming and trickling off them.

There were insects in his clothing, so he let go a little blaze of chakra, a white humming aura over his skin, and struck each of them stone dead. A spider the size of Sadao's thumb dropped from his shoulder, twitching.

He wandered blearily back to one of his fires, the sour taste of the deer on his tongue. He tried to blink away tiredness but his head was pounding. Grey steam slithered up from beneath the mound of ash and the brittle remains of logs that had once been the fire pit, and Sadao crouched before it.

He peered down at the soft earth. It was moist and brown, sprouting lime coloured grass in places. Here and there Sadao espied tracks that obviously belonged to a very large dog -- he ignored these. He also saw a series of raccoon prints in the mud, circling the fire, no doubt attracted by the smell of meat.

By far the most interesting footprint of all was that of a booted human, the mark telltale and deep. Sadao smiled. These prints did not belong to he himself, no -- Sadao's footprints were those of the monstrous dog. The tough leather soles of his boots were shaped to mask his trail.

He was being tracked. Most likely by the three he'd left in Itachi's room. They had come to his campsite during the night and already passed on.

Sadao was not worried.

He backtracked and climbed the tree he'd hung the meat from. He'd half expected the sack to be gone or at least ravaged by squirrels and birds, but it seemed in fine condition. Sadao clipped the sack to his belt, the harsh scent of the venison floating up to tickle his nostrils. He stood on a thick bough, pensive, and closed his eyes, fifty feet above the forest floor.

He knew, then, that only thinking like Itachi had worked so far and only thinking like Itachi would work in the future. He'd reasoned to himself that it would be possible to avoid this sort of thing, but now he saw the folly in that. The only way to catch the Uchiha boy was to get inside his mind.

An uncomfortable feeling came to Sadao; that perhaps this would be only a marginal shift in mentality from his own. But _no_ -- Sadao pushed the impulsive thought aside. He looked up.

Sadao flickered with motion, and then the branch was quivering where he had stood, the emerald understory of ancient trees as empty of Sadao and as full of everything else as it had been hundreds of years before.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

-2-

They went back to the stranger's camp during the daytime, hoping that the morning light would unveil some of the mystery. They'd followed the flickering orange light of fire in the dark, eyes keen and yellow as those of wolves, gait steady and silent. They had picked over leaves and branches and soil without difficulty, leaving barely a trace of their passing.

And when they arrived, they'd found nothing. Yuka had turned his glowing eyes on her and shrugged. Oh, to be certain, there were traces of heat -- the embers of the dying fire flared white to Juri's perception, and here and there footprints were fading quickly to a dull brown against the cold black ground. But there was no living thing nearby save for the birds and snakes and insects.

This morning was no different. The fires had died completely -- _two fires?_ Juri shook her head in confusion. Had it merely been a tactic to throw them off? She turned to Outa; the bald man was sitting on his haunches, studying the ground.

"These are the tracks we saw last night," he said with his usual calm. "but none of them are human."

Juri resisted the urge to yell something obscene and instead reached roughly back to tighten the thong on her fire-coloured pony-tail, now greasy and dirty from a day and night in the forest. "I don't see how that makes sense," she said patiently.

Outa shrugged bare, muscled shoulders. "Neither do I. These canine tracks are everywhere, though. Big wolf or huge dog -- it's possible he used a summoning technique."

Juri nodded, willing to accept that at least. "Unless he was riding the thing, you'd think he would have left footprints, though…"

Just then, Yuka's voice rang out, harsh and clear in the morning air. "Found a deer carcass over here!" The man's shaggy head was poking up over a patch of foliage, and his tanned arm was waving. Juri went over to him, looked down over her nose. She grimaced at the mangled animal, half-skinned, it's entrails neatly arranged on the grass beside it. Yuka was handling it roughly with his hands, oblivious to how totally _disgusting_ it was. Maggots migrated from the corpse to his arms, and he brushed them off absently.

"How is that going to help us?" Juri demanded, a hand over her mouth and nose. Yuka looked up in surprise.

"Well, y'know," he said dimly, "never know if you're gonna find something useful. Besides, we might need some meat for the road later on -- "

"Ew!" Juri stomped a foot. "It's been lying out all night, and it's got maggots all over it! I am _not_ eating that!"

Outa arrived soundlessly. Their older brother shook his sparse head glumly. "Grow up, Juri." She stared at him. A blonde mould seemed to be growing on his scalp; she stared in wonderment -- how long had it been since Outa had gone a day without shaving?

He continued. "Unfortunately, Yuka, she is right. It does not take long for deadly bacteria to grow, especially in these conditions."

Yuka looked resignedly down at his hands, bloody to the wrists. "It's just, y'know," he said in mild embarrassment, "eating instant noodles gets boring all the time."

Outa ignored the comment, already drinking in the forest again with his dark grey eyes. Outa missed nothing, Juri knew. Ever since they were children together, Outa had been the serious one, the one who embodied what a true Idaten should be. He was the prodigy of their father, the pride of the clan. One day, Outa would be the patriarch of Clan Idaten, Juri knew somewhere in the back of her mind, and he must have known it too: he already acted the part.

Outa's gaze suddenly snapped back to the fire pit, and he crouched again beside it, slowly. Everything he did was measured in even doses. Juri watched her big brother extend one strong finger to poke at the ground. A smile tugged gently at the corners of his normally wooden mouth. Juri held her breath -- this was Outa at his most elated, amused, or otherwise emotional.

"Hah," he said, calmly. Outa never laughed, instead voicing his mirth in monosyllabic statements. "This is interesting."

When Outa said things like that, Juri and Yuka listened. Juri came to stand behind him, squinting over his shoulder at where his finger stabbed into the dirt. Yuka leapt over a bush and jogged up, wiping his bloody hands on his pants. Juri grimaced.

"They," said Outa, "are not canine tracks after all. They are in fact the footprints of our friend from the inn."

Juri looked closer. She couldn't really tell, not really, but she knew what he was getting at. "He's wearing ashiaro," she posited carefully, gauging Outa's reaction. To her relief, the man nodded his head sombrely. Inwardly, Juri winced -- he'd been able to tell just by looking. To her, the tracks still appeared genuine. But she didn't want to give up her small victory.

Outa read her, though. His grey eyes smiled sardonically at her even if his mouth was a flat line. "That's right. I haven't seen that tactic in years." Outa straightened his legs and stroked the fuzz forming on his chin. "He is an interesting man; do you realize he was watching us in the restaurant? And he held the bow in an unorthodox fashion as well, bracing his arrow against the sword, his grasp on the nocks reversed."

Outa was acting out his words, his knotted bare arms up, holding an imaginary bow and arrow. Yuka was staring blankly at him, probably wondering yet again why their brother was such a conundrum. Juri knew _she_ hadn't been looking at the stranger's shooting stance, and if she had she probably wouldn't remember it in such detail.

Which was all doubtless part of the reason Outa was the prodigy and not either of them.

"We search the area," said Outa. "We will not find him or any conclusive evidence of him, but any clue may point us in the right direction."

"Remind me again," said Yuka, scratching fiercely up under his mound of hair. "Are we sure he's going in the right direction? I mean, what if the guy's just giving up, heading back to Konoha. Wouldn't _that_ be a waste of our time."

Outa shook his head once, eyes half closed with a trace of contempt. "He knows what he's doing, and I think I know it too. Our friend has taken our mutual failure in Shikuba as a sign of Uchiha Itachi's tactical sense, I believe. There isn't much to go on, but I perceive now that Itachi, instead of fleeing away from Konoha as is expected of him, will instead move closer to the hidden village. Perhaps he intends to surprise his pursuers, or perhaps he merely intends to hide in plain sight while the search spreads farther and farther outwards from Konoha. That is what our friend believes. I think he is right."

Juri nodded. She was beginning to understand. In truth, following the stranger had initially seemed to be folly, but now it made a bit more sense. She cringed inwardly, knowing she shouldn't have doubted Outa even for a second. She said, "and we know that Itachi was recently in Shikuba, if only as a diversion. So he may actually be nearby. But what if that man catches up to the Uchiha kid before us?"

"That is why," said Outa, nodding, "we have to catch up to our friend as soon as possible. Yet he is a difficult quarry himself. Once we have acquired his trail again, we need to be prepared to attack at a moment's notice."

"Attack?" Juri was suddenly uneasy. "He wasn't hostile in the inn, though, really…"

"There is no choice," Outa said firmly. "There is no room for another party. He will demand at least half the bounty, and if he doesn't get it he will attack us anyway." And then Outa's eyes were smiling again and he extended a hand to tousle Juri's hair. She felt like a child again, always felt like a child around him. "Do not worry, little sister. I will allow him the chance to surrender honourably, but if he refuses, well," her brother's iron-coloured eyes narrowed. His hand was warm and heavy on her head.

"He shall not harm you."

After that, Outa went back over to the fire pit and stooped, hands clasped behind his back. He stared at the ground and slowly made his way off into the forest. They followed their older brother as he rustled past leaves and shouldered his way around thin branches. Juri grimaced as tiny wooden fingers scraped her cheek.

Outa came to a halt staring expectantly at the black bark of a massive tree, easily as wide in its trunk as Juri was tall. Outa planted a boot on one of its gargantuan roots and stared at the ground; then he looked up, and then up again, his gaze tracking all the way to the canopy of greenery above.

He said, "Hah."

Outa turned to look at each of his siblings in turn, grey eyes wide and clear, then back at the tree. He craned his neck and turned in a slow circle, mouth slightly agape. Then, with no warning at all, he gave a quick nod and broke into a run. An Outa run, fast as a jungle cat and almost as nimble. His sandal-bound feet flew over mud, fallen logs, matted leaves without faltering.

It was all they could do to keep up with them, and Juri was almost embarrassed as he slowed his stride so they could pace him. As she winced and hunched her shoulders to protect against twigs and leaves, dodging a sapling that hurled itself in her way, she heard Outa say something over the drumbeat of his perfect run. "He moves by treetop."

Juri thought about that, a resigned kind of dread slumping her shoulders. "He's a _ninja_?" she called back, incredulous.

"I believe so."

They ran on through the forest, but Juri had to wonder if even the pace they set could catch up with a ninja who moved by treetop. They were said to be able to jump great distances, hold themselves to the tree with chakra -- upside-down if they wished to, and move from one spot to another in the blink of an eye. Chasing Itachi, she had reasoned during the first days of their hunt, would be easy for the three of them, seasoned Idaten trackers. But this strange ninja with the beige cloak had cast doubt in her mind; if Itachi was even better than he, they were in for a rough time.

She had faith in Outa, though. He was as confident as always.

They ran on for hours. By the time Outa called a halt and they skidded to a stop amid tangled foliage, the stars stretched across the sky, and the moon was huge and white. Juri could hear the crickets now, startlingly loud. The forest seemed a very alive and dangerous place. She kept imagining that she could see shapes shifting in the blackness, but whenever she stopped to stare, there was nothing.

The moonlight illuminated Outa's face -- a single drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his mouth was a hard line. Juri slouched, breathing hard, her hair greasy with sweat, and Yuka had already plunked himself into the dirt, yawning. "Let's get a fire on -- "he began.

"No fire," Outa still stood erect, his back to them. Pale light limned his fuzzy scalp. "I will take first watch. We rest for three hours, then continue on. We _must_ catch up."

Juri groaned and heaved her pack off of her shoulders. She laid out the thick sleeping-bag on the ground and crawled inside; every muscle buzzed with dull pain from their day of running. She was trained for this; this was no problem. But… _three_ hours? That meant only two hours of sleep, because Outa would want them to split the watch three ways. She ate two hunks of dry brown bread from her pack, and took a long pull of her water canteen. Then she closed her eyes and felt her consciousness begin to recede like the tide.

Outa was shaking her gently. She moaned and cracked her eyes open. Her head hurt. "Just let me sleep, Outa," she complained.

"It is your turn for the watch," he said, watching her. He would watch her until he was certain she was alert and watching the forest for activity, she knew, not like Yuka who would give her a shove and then crawl off to bed.

Juri sat up and massaged her head. The moon was still bright as anything, black leaves and branches silhouetted against it. Still in the sleeping bag, she shuffled over the ground to a tree and propped her back against it, pulling her knife-belt up from inside.

"No," said Outa sternly. "Out of the blankets. You'll doze off."

She grunted. "Head hurts."

"Drink more water. Out of the sleeping bag, sister."

With a final recalcitrant stare at him, she slipped out of the sleeping bag and shivered, fastening the knife-belt back around her waist. Outa finally seemed satisfied. He pulled his own blanket about himself and lay down with his head resting on his pack.

Juri shivered, left alone with the night, and the moon and the stars. The night seemed to move now more than ever, and twigs snapped, and every rustling leaf sounded like Uchiha Itachi slipping through the darkness with a knife. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She was glad at least that she had her brothers with her -- even Yuka, the oaf. She was glad not to be the stranger in the beige cloak, alone, travelling through darkness.

Time passed slowly, but Juri was determined not to fall asleep. Outa would be coldly furious. He would not yell, or hit her, but he would be angry and she hated his silent anger more than Yuka's loud version. She checked her watch. Only ten minutes had passed. Rolling her eyes, she leaned her head against the tree, scratching an itch on her scalp against the rough bark.

When at last an hour had passed, uneventfully but for the wraiths she imagined in the blackness, she woke Yuka -- gently, and made sure he would stay awake. Then she went back to sleep, lulled by Outa's soft snores, beside her. She had heard those snores ever since she was a child, and they always made her feel at ease. They were a sign that her brother was there, a calm presence, placid as water yet inwardly as fierce as fire.

The gentle breath of a dragon, harmless in sleep.

* * *

They found the bodies as the sun rose, a stink like no other rising from where they lay waxy and swollen in the dirt. Two of them, both men, limbs contorted where they had fallen. One was frozen in the act of clawing at the roots of a tree, the other spread-eagled in the grass, face-up, an arc of dried blood browning the foliage around him. 

Outa knelt first beside the spread-eagled man, the fingers of his hands clasped peacefully. "A sword," he said simply. "Gutted him across the abdomen." Juri leaned in for a closer look and then jerked back. The man's entrails coiled, glistening, out of the split in his belly, already roiling with a layer of maggots.

She backed away, and Outa went to the second man where he lay with his face in the mud. "Puncture wounds," said Outa, one finger hovering over the bloody fabric on the man's back. "Most likely kunai or daggers; possibly arrows, though the wounds seem too shallow for that -- wait," Outa stooped closer, nodded, "as I thought. These wounds on his back could not have killed him, but his throat is slit."

Juri nodded. "Huh." Her stomach gave a sudden lurch, and her hand shot to her mouth, but she quelled the nausea with an effort. When she looked up, Outa's steel eyes regarded her, unblinking. He was annoyed, maybe. She could never tell.

"That guy?" said Yuka, frowning. "The guy from the inn?"

Outa shrugged slowly. "Perhaps. I did not see if he had knives, though it would not surprise me. Though he did not attack us, I have no doubt that if provoked he could do this."

"Who are they?" Juri asked, her composure regained. "Other bounty hunters like us?"

"Most likely." Outa stood and began pacing about the area, his neck bent downwards, eyes tracking. "Do not move," he said, and then was silent for many minutes. He covered most of the ground around the dead men as Juri and Yuka stood uneasily, crouching here and there, never saying anything, never pausing for more than a moment. Finally he shook his head solemnly and wrapping his strong arms around a nearby tree, shimmying up gracefully. He vanished into the smothering blanket of green. He did not come down for almost half an hour. Juri and Yuka kept looking at each other warily, but still they said nothing and did not move.

When Outa finally climbed back down, it was down a tree thirty feet away from the one he'd climbed up. Their brother hung from a branch and then dropped the last bit, landing in a crouch. He stood and dusted off his hands. "Our friend was here," he said. "If not on the ground. The tracks are muddled down here. There was a fight -- these two and possibly others have stomped all over the underbrush. I cannot tell how many. And our friend from the inn passed through here, above," Outa pointed a stubby finger straight up.

Juri did not ask how he could track a man through the treetops, because she guessed that she was supposed to know that, and Outa would just be annoyed. She saw Yuka nod his shaggy head sagely, but knew there was no way the fool knew anything about treetop tracking.

Suddenly, a cry rang out in the forest ahead of them, a scream of terror. Goosebumps instantly rippled up her arms as she turned to see a dark shape moving. Outa had tensed, staring ahead, and then he was running off in the direction of the shout, in the blink of an eye. Juri followed, and she could hear Yuka behind her. Who was it who had screamed? Was it the man from the inn?

Was it _Uchiha Itachi?_ Leading them off?

She could see him now, whoever it was, barrelling through the forest at a dead run. She heard him let loose another bloodcurdling shriek. Outa was zealous in is need to catch the man; his pace increased beyond that which Juri could duplicate, his stout legs blurring with speed as he streaked past trees and bushes.

Ahead, she heard a single sharp shout of horror, and then it was over. She rushed out from behind a fern and saw Outa cornering the man against a tree.

"We mean you no harm," her brother was saying calmly as the man shrunk back against the enormous tree. He was sobbing, she saw, and bleeding from his temple. He wore black clothing, had black hair, his hands were shaking as he poised them between himself and Outa.

"D-d-don't," he moaned, eyes wide, bloodshot, rolling and insane. "Please, not again… I'll do anything. Stop… just don't do it again." He trailed off into a sob, agonized and throaty.

Outa was implacable, his palms open. "We mean you no harm, friend. Tell us what happened. Were you travelling with the dead men behind us?"

"Yessssss," hissed the man, now clawing at the tree behind him. "You _know_. _You _know. What you did. You'll never take me back there. Kill me first, before you take me back."

"We shall not," declared Outa, as Juri's unease mounted, a slithering sickness in the pit of her stomach. "You'll never have to go there again."

"_LIAR!" _the man roared with sudden ferocity. "You _will_. You took me there, and you cradled me. You cradled me in hell, you demon. You cradled me in your…" he moaned, reached for his face, smearing the blood there. Two fingers caressed his right eyelid. "In your…"

The fingers jerked violently. Blood spurted. Juri screamed, and the man said: "EYE."

There was one single moment as Outa stood dumbfounded, and then the man let loose a shriek like one being burned alive. He moved with a sudden and inhuman speed, knocking Outa aside. Even as Outa was recovering, standing up, the wild man with his bleeding face shrieked again and ran at Juri and Yuka. Outa was behind him now. She and Yuka were alone.

The man's blood-coated hand dropped to his belt and came up in a flash. From it spun a black shadow, a hazy shape that lanced through the air and struck Yuka. Juri started and turned to see her younger brother, open mouthed, staring at a throwing star that had embedded itself in his chest. His mouth worked once, and then he stumbled.

And then in one horrible instant, the eyes of the wild man looked onto hers -- _no_, eye. His other eye was a glistening red socket.

_EYE, _the man had said, _EYE._

He was running for her, screaming, heedless, and Yuka was slowly crumpling to the ground, a red stain spreading on his brown tunic, and Outa was yelling, chasing the man with all his speed, but he was too far away. Outa was _yelling_, thought Juri with wonderment. And then the wild man was too close. She could see the torn flesh dangling from his eye-socket, the bloody fingerprints on his neck and cheeks, _smell _his reek of death and decay.

In the corner of her field of vision, she thought she saw a tree come alive, its bark sloughing off, arms sprouting from its trunk, but it must have been her imagination just like the shapes in the night.

The wild man faltered.

And his arm fell off at the shoulder.

He briefly glanced down at the stump where his arm had hung, blood now surging from the wound, down his side, soaking his pants, his boots. He toppled backwards to the ground without another word. Outa was beside her then, saying something, but she couldn't hear him. He crouched over Yuka, feeling his pulse, speaking in that monotone voice of his. He must have been talking about how Yuka had died, she thought dimly, describing the wound and the weapon, coldly, with detachment. He would stand again and sniff at the breezes, and then they would leave Yuka and go off wherever Outa led them.

She shook her head. Outa's words came to her through the veil, then:

"He will live," said her brother. "But he needs medical attention. I thank you for your help, friend. I fear my sister can be slow to react on occasion. You have done us a great service."

Who was Outa talking to? Then she saw. It was the tree she'd seen come alive -- no, a man. He had not moved from where he had appeared from inside the tree, his beige cloak encasing him. He wore a straw hat on his head, wide, shadowing his face. From inside his cloak protruded one hand, which clasped a katana just below the hilt; his thumb had pressed against the guard, pushing the sword up until an inch of steel blade was visible.

The man's other hand emerged, snapped the katana fully back into the sheath, and then sword and hands both vanished into the folds of that beige cloak.

The man said, "No big deal."

Finally Juri found both her voice and a measure of understanding. "Chameleon cloak?" she asked hesitantly, her voice raw. She supposed she'd been screaming.

The man's straw hat dipped in a single nod. It was then that Juri thought to wonder: _what did he do?_ She hadn't seen him do anything, yet the man's arm had fallen off, and that tiny little bit of the stranger's sword had been showing when she'd finally looked over. He _was_ a ninja, she knew then. He had to be. He'd used some special ninjutsu technique on the wild man that had cut his arm off.

And _why_ did she suddenly feel so helpless?

The stranger had walked forwards, gliding over to stand next to Juri. She saw the longbow from before, looped over one shoulder. The man reached one finger to tip up the brim of his hat, revealing dark hair and eyes.

"At least now we know we're close, eh?" said the stranger jauntily. He was speaking to Outa, who was carefully removing the shuriken from Yuka's chest. Blood flowed, but Outa quickly jammed his palm down, pressing hard. A bit of green fire shimmered around his hand; Outa had always had a gift for healing with chakra, even without ninja training. "Yes," he said as he worked, not looking up. "I suppose the reason the madman said 'eye' was because of -- "

"Yeah," said the stranger before Outa had finished, nodding absently. Juri flinched; no one had ever interrupted Outa and come off well in the end, but her brother seemed not to notice the slight. "The Sharingan eyes, most definitely. I believe I've heard of the technique he used -- a kind of advanced illusionary jutsu."

Outa nodded even as he was grabbing Yuka under the armpits, hauling the younger, bigger man upwards. Yuka's eyes were closed, but his chest moved with breath. Outa propped him upright and turned to the stranger.

"I am Outa, of clan Idaten. My sister Juri -- " he gestured, "and my brother Yuka."

"Sadao," said the man.

Juri frowned at them each in turn. "Wait a minute. You were talking about eyes. Sharingan… I've heard that word before…"

Outa grimaced in annoyance, and she resisted the urge to look away in shame. "As well you _should_ have, little sister. It is a bloodline trait, a genetic advantage that affects the eyes. It gives the user enhanced powers of detection, anticipation. Among other things."

The stranger named Sadao continued as though his mind and Outa's were one and the same, his dark eyes searching her. Now she really _did_ look away. "The Sharingan eyes are the most uncommon bloodline trait in the world right now. There are only two people left alive of the hundreds that once possessed the Sharingan, and only one who is powerful enough to use them. His name is -- "

"Uchiha," interrupted Outa, his voice a harsh whisper, "Itachi."

* * *

She watched Yuka's flaccid limbs bouncing off Outa's shoulders and thighs as Outa ran. The forest was hot under a midday sun, and sweat poured off her forehead into her eyes. Juri had never liked running, especially on days as hot as this one. The stranger, Sadao, was behind her -- she knew this abstractly, but she could not hear him, and she didn't want to look back for fear of tripping or running into a tree. So she fixed her eyes on Outa and Yuka. 

They headed for a town Sadao said was nearby. Juri remembered the brief conversation before they began running through the forest.

"So," she had frowned, "_Itachi_ killed those men?"

Sadao had nodded, his shoulder propped lazily against a tree. "He is definitely close. If we intend to catch him we'd better go quickly."

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Outa had demanded, very rudely in Juri's opinion, but she did not say anything.

Sadao smiled. "I'd like some backup. Judging by what I've seen, he is a real pain in the ass."

Outa's face was hard and his expression inscrutable as he processed the word _backup_. "…I suppose. My brother is badly injured, however -- "

"There's a town less than ten minutes run from here. Dunno the name, but its got hotels, clinics. Take him there, then we'll head out again."

So that's what they had decided. Drop Yuka off, and then Outa and Sadao would somehow reacquire Itachi's trail. Juri was not optimistic about the situation, truthfully. Every time she thought about Itachi, about the sheer horror on the face of the madman who'd gouged his own eye out, she wanted to go home and forget she'd ever come to hunt this Uchiha kid.

There was something spooky about him, she could tell that much just by the way people talked about him. The way Outa and this guy Sadao seemed to stare off into the distance every time they uttered his name. It was way over-dramatic in her opinion, she just wanted them to tell her what the big deal was. The mystery was mostly what scared her anyway. She was sure, if they just _told_ her all about him, she could handle it.

Before long, they emerged from the forest into a sunlit expanse of grass, green and waist high, that scratched at Juri's forearms as she ran. For the first time in days, the sun beat down without a canopy of leaves to filter it; she felt the hot kiss on the back of her neck, the burn of standing too close to a fire. The town was right in front of them, as Sadao had said, little squat buildings all of old white concrete and red brick, sand-filled streets, a general rustic demeanour hovering about the place.

They slowed as they entered the town, an old squinty-eyed peasant watching them curiously as he led his donkey through the street. The place was dreary, to Juri's eyes. It wasn't long before Outa had found a small clinic and they'd dragged themselves in beneath the shade, a big fan slowly beating the air above them. Juri wiped sweat from her face with her forearm, jealously watching Sadao and Outa. For some reason, they seemed not to be winded in the slightest.

Sadao eased himself silently into a wooden chair in the front foyer of the clinic, his hands -- everything, really -- hidden beneath his cloak. Outa, still carrying Yuka, followed the nurse deeper into the clinic, but Juri decided to sit down in the chair next to Sadao's. He didn't respond as she stared at him, his chin drooping, hat low over his eyes. He could have been sleeping.

But then he spoke, "So why are you guys after the reward?"

"Oh," Juri thought for a minute, then leaned back in the chair, looking up at the fan. "For our clan. Idaten, you know. We're the ruling clan in a town way east of here -- Otoma town, you ever heard of it?"

He shook his head once.

"Way bigger than this -- well -- a _fair_ bit bigger than this place. But anyway, the clan's kinda failing, the land is drying up in this year's drought. We get a drought up there every year, but this year it's worse for some reason. Dunno why, but my Grandma says it's the fire demons that live in the mountain. We have a mountain near there, y'see -- "

She turned to look closely at him, checking to see if he was paying attention, but she really couldn't tell at this angle. She could only see a silhouette of his nose and upper lip in between the hat and the collar.

"You listening?" she asked.

"Uh-huh."

"So, this mountain apparently has fire demons living in it, or so the old story goes. So she says we haven't been giving them enough prayers recently, so they're blowing all the rain clouds away with their hot breath. My dad, the clan chief, says that's nonsense, though, we're just having bad luck -- "

"Juri." It was Outa. He was back already, tall, staring down at her with his hard eyes, his angry eyes. She probably shouldn't have been telling village stories to a stranger. But Outa ignored that, again surprising her. Her big brother turned to Sadao; "My brother is being taken care of. We should leave now before Itachi gets too far away."

The brim of Sadao's straw hat inclined in a subtle nod. He stood up, turned his back to Juri. She gave herself a sharp nod. She could do this. Itachi did not scare her; she was ready to follow her brother and finally _do_ something. Outa would always speak of his nights alone ranging, chasing down bandits who had harassed the village, or dangerous animals. She had grown up with that, and now she would live it.

Sadao turned to catch Outa's eye. Then he twitched his shoulder minimally in her direction, gave a little shake of his head. Juri felt her heart sink as Outa nodded in reply.

"Juri," said Outa. "You will stay here and look after Yuka."

"Brother -- "

"I'm counting on you, little sister. Do not let any harm come to him. We will be back before too long."

"But -- "

This time it was Sadao who interrupted her. "Don't be a fool," he said, his voice flat. And that was all he said. She turned to him, but he was already walking away. Outa gave her a searching look, then nodded and turned to follow Sadao out of the clinic. The sun blazed white on his sweaty scalp as he crossed from the shadow of the building into sunlight.

He wasn't counting on her, though. He'd just said that to make her feel better, the most she could ever expect out of him. The nicest thing he'd ever really said to her, and he said it falsely, to protect her, to keep her out of harm's way. _Don't be a fool_, Sadao had said. He was right, and she hated herself for it. Even against the wild man, even against the man Itachi had driven insane with whatever power it was he possessed, even _he_ had frozen her solid, locked her knees with terror. She could never face a monster like Uchiha Itachi.

She hoped Outa and Sadao could.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

-3-

Outa had never regretted anything before in life. Whenever he got onto the subject of _regret_, whenever the word flickered through his mind, he made himself admit that he regretted nothing. Life's trials were not to be regretted but _remembered_; regret implied a delusion, a nagging deceit that said you could go back and change things that had happened in the past. Remembrance only meant a knowledge of the past, not a futile wish to change it.

But even Outa had to admit that if either of his siblings were killed, he might regret it. He would fall from his senses and wish against all reason that he could reach into the past and make it different. That is why he couldn't allow Juri to come with them, despite the shame he must have caused her. He would not regret, but it was his very _remembrance_ of the past that allowed him to change the future.

His first wife.

Kumiko. Brown hair, green eyes, lips like rose petals. He let the details flow over him again, just to make sure they were still there. She'd been killed, of course, by bandits. He didn't regret it. He remembered it, and her, as a lesson. She had wanted to come with him that day, had _begged _him, and he'd relented because he wanted her to be happy.

That day, he learned: no shame is worse than death. No matter what.

He didn't regret. Not really. Because that experience had allowed him to save his sister today. If she met Itachi, he wouldn't be able to save her, just like he wasn't able to save Kumiko. And that is why, this time, he weathered her pleading stare, her shamed expression, because he knew it wasn't worth it to let her come.

He and Sadao backtracked to the scene of the slaughter, the atmosphere beneath the forest pressing in on them. Midday had been an hour or two ago, and the air was stagnant. Insects buzzed in Outa's ears as he scoured the area with his eyes, once again.

"He came in through the trees," Sadao called from above. Outa flicked his glance upward to see the younger man perched on a wrist-thin bough twenty feet above the forest floor, weight and balance no issue. Outa scowled, reminded again of why he didn't like ninjas.

"Which direction?" asked Outa.

"Gimme a minute," Sadao turned and leapt the distance to an adjacent tree, cloak billowing behind him as he flew. The man planted a foot on the trunk, then another foot, standing parallel to the ground. He bent his knees and looked closely, then shook his head. Sadao continued his stroll up the tree, stopping here and there to investigate. Outa snorted and turned his attention back to the ground.

"There's…" said Sadao suddenly, as though a thought had just come to him. "there's chakra residue all over here. This whole area is filled with burned up power."

"Can you track him using that?"

"Maybe. If he's using chakra to move. Body-flicker technique, or whatever else." Sadao was now so high that Outa had to crane his neck to see the man where he was hunched on a thick bough overhead. "I'm getting the impression he headed east from here."

Outa sneered. "Getting the impression? How inconclusive of you."

"Uh-huh," Sadao ignored the jibe. The dark-haired man stood, reached up to pin his hat to his head, and stepped off the branch. He plummeted to the ground and landed, cloak flaring around him; Outa caught a glimpse of tabi-boots, a quiver of arrows, and the katana before the chameleon cloak settled.

"C'mon," said Sadao. "We're only a few hours behind."

They ran on through the stifling heat, and Outa finally began to feel the uncomfortable prick of sweat, streaming down his back, under his arms, getting in his eyes. He also got a distinct and unhappy impression that Sadao could run faster without even winding himself. Sadao called back to him as they ran: "So your village came off badly during the drought, eh? That seems to be some kind of analytic truth. How badly do you need the money?"

Outa winced, cursing Juri for her indiscretion. "It is not your business to pry into -- "

"But it is my business to get _paid_. How much of a cut are you expecting?"

This was what Outa had been afraid of. "Seventy percent," said Outa. "Anything less and the money will be insufficient." He knew Sadao would argue, perhaps even break off their alliance right then.

"Insufficient?" said Sadao, ahead of him, turning sideways to slip between two saplings. "How bad off are you guys anyway?"

"Bad. Tradesmen are leaving the village in droves to seek better paying work. Our hospital is understaffed, and most of all our peasants are starving because their fields are dry."

"Seventy… might be able to do that. All I want is the money to dine at the finest restaurants and hit the finest strip-clubs."

Outa scoffed, muttering. A man like this did not deserve a reward.

"Then you waste the money," said Outa stiffly. "If you were a righteous man you would donate it to those who have need of it."

Outa saw Sadao turn, holding his straw hat on as he plunged past an overhanging branch full of emerald green leaves, each the size of Outa's hand. "Righteous?" Sadao barked the word. "Nah. I lived my life in cycles so far. Started out righteous, y'see, cuz that's how I was taught. Then life and war toughened me, I swung the other way like a pendulum, lived for nobody but myself. Then I went into another cycle of righteousness, decided to live a nice quiet life. _That_ didn't last too long, and here we are again. You came two years too late to see the righteous me. Just missed him."

"What drove you away from righteousness again?"

"Demons. Time."

"Ah." Outa was beginning to understand that his new partner was unconventional and perhaps a slight bit mad. He said no more, instead concentrating on the rhythm of his run, the balls of his feet hammering the soft ground.

They ran until the sun had vanished behind the horizon and darkness filled the vacuum of its absence. The moonlight was as pale and bright as it had been the past several nights, but Outa saw that the full moon had a tiny bite taken out of it tonight. In another fortnight it would be gone and the nights would be black as pitch. He hoped they would catch up to Itachi before then.

Outa took first watch of a two hour rest, but Sadao seemed uninterested in sleep. The cloaked swordsman sat straight-backed against a tree and looked at Outa with evaluating eyes, and Outa stared back for a while. He was startled when Sadao spoke: "The kid's crazy, I guess."

"I suppose." Outa really wished Sadao would just sleep and leave him in peace, to contemplate things.

"I mean," Sadao said, "I've killed people. A lot of people -- "

"Depending on what cycle you're in?" said Outa dryly.

"Exactly," Outa heard a grin on Sadao's face even if he couldn't see one. "But… friends and family… back in the old days I never would have killed a friend. He's gotta be crazy, right?"

"I don't care."

Sadao was silent for a long while. Outa didn't really like him. The swordsman had initially come off as silent and stoic, but now he seemed almost too chipper for the skills he apparently possessed. _Demons. Time._ Sadao lacked coherence in his personality. Cryptic and eccentric one moment, open and congenial the next.

Finally Sadao spoke again. "So who are you?"

"Outa," said Outa.

"Right. Poster boy of clan Idaten, I guess. Not that I know anything about clans, but _people_… you act like an oldest son, or I'll be damned."

Outa was unnerved. Juri must have told Sadao who he was. Unless Sadao was as good at reading people as he seemed to imply.

"So your uncertainty is in that you can't classify Itachi?" Outa ventured. "He was the poster boy, the pride of his clan, the firstborn son, and yet he flies in the face of all reasonable characterization. So you assume that he must be crazy?"

"Something like that," Sadao paused. "What, do I have you all wrong? Is there a latent desire to murder your family in _all_ firstborn sons?"

The side of Outa's mouth twitched. "Sometimes. But usually I try to keep them alive."

Sadao chuckled. "I think you were trying to be funny."

Outa hadn't been funny in a long while. Kumiko had liked him when he was funny, but since then he hadn't ever had a reason to be. Nothing had seemed especially humorous since then. But he didn't _regret, _no, he just remembered. It made him the man he was.

"And who are you?" Outa asked Sadao.

Sadao paused, then grinned, turning until his teeth shone white in the moonlight. The light caught the side of his face, throwing half of it into inky shadows. "Sadao," he said.

Outa sighed, content to take the game at least a little farther. "Cloaked swordsman with a questionable past. And you are a missing-nin."

Sadao laughed out loud. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"You're a ninja. You wear no head-protector, no emblem of a hidden village. You rely on mercenary work. Therefore, you're a missing-nin. I imagine not one from Konoha, but I suppose it's not out of the question."

Sadao looked down again, and his faced vanished into shadow. "Do I have to be a missing-nin? What if I just got some ninja training on the side?"

"I don't care if you deny it or not. It doesn't matter to me. You made inferences about who I was based on my demeanour. Now I've done the same to you."

"Huh," Sadao nodded. "Well, tell you what. You don't ask me, I won't ask you. We'll just leave that question hanging for now." And he abruptly leaned over and rested his head on the ground. As Outa watched, Sadao took off his hat, then curled his head, arms, and legs underneath the sand-coloured cloak. Outa leaned forward, squinted, but then suddenly there was nothing but a patch of dirt where Sadao had been. Outa had to admit, it was as effective a chameleon cloak as he'd ever seen.

Truthfully, when the hour of his watch was up, Outa had second thoughts about trusting Sadao with the second watch. Not that he seemed incompetent so much as untrustworthy. But Outa could feel his fatigue tugging at his consciousness every time he blinked. He had not slept properly in days. He wondered whether this gave them a speed advantage over Itachi, or whether the young missing-nin was sleeping as little as they were. Maybe he wasn't sleeping at all.

Against his better judgement, Outa woke Sadao for the watch. The younger man was alert upon waking, enough so that Outa was set at ease. Stifling a yawn, he wrapped his sleeping bag around himself and was asleep almost instantly. He dreamed of the day Kumiko died, as he often did. This time was no different than all the other times; he would tell her in his dreams, 'no, you can't come with me,' and she would be saved. Or he would be faster to throw his kunai than the other man, he would knock the dagger that killed his wife from the air before it reached her. It was always like that. He never had nightmares about it -- the nightmare was waking up to find that he hadn't done it, he hadn't saved her.

He awoke. Sadao stood above him, prodding him with the muddy toe of his tabi-boot. "Hey," said Sadao. "Wake time, man. We're getting close." Sadao's cloak was filthy all down the left side, drenched in muddy water. "We had a rain while you slept, for about ten minutes."

Suddenly Outa felt a burn of shame on his face, remembering his dream. He _didn't _regret. He _didn't_. It was foolish to wish to change the past, so he did _not_ regret. He only remembered. He was not so weak of spirit that he had to wish for impossible things. He strove forward, remembering the lesson learned.

Outa's sleeping bag was covered in mud, so he shook it off before rolling it tightly in his pack again. The night had clouded over during the hour he was asleep, a slate grey sheet wiping the sky clean of stars. The moon was a hazy white glow, shining even through the cloud cover. Without moonlight they traveled through a deeper darkness. Outa felt the first bite of weariness in his legs a few minutes after they set off again. With every running step, it seemed, his feet made slurping sounds in the mud that was formed by the short rain.

They said nothing as they ran. Outa focused on the running, and brought forth his bloodline limit for the first time in the presence of Sadao. He'd been hoping to conceal its existence, but now as they drew closer to Itachi he knew they'd need every edge.

Sadao, running before him, became a figure of withering orange and yellow. His hands, thrown back as he ran, were a darker shade of red, almost a purple, and his head was almost white in places. The forest was cool from the new rain, black and navy blue surrounding him. If Itachi was anywhere nearby, he would appear a blazing figure just like Sadao.

"What the hell was that?" Sadao asked without looking back. Outa noted with satisfaction that Sadao was breathing hard. "What did you do?"

Sadao must have felt the chakra shift when Outa used his bloodline limit. Outa opened his mouth to say something but Sadao was, annoyingly, already looking back. Outa saw the heat behind his eyes, flaring white.

"A dojutsu," said Sadao. "Intriguing. What does it do?"

Outa snorted, then decided it was best to tell his partner. "A clan Idaten bloodline technique. I can see into the infrared spectrum."

"Really? Right now? That's good, you'll be able to tell if someone's near."

They ran on in silence for a while. The sky eventually grew brighter, a silver color, and then gradually the clouds began to move off. Outa saw patches of blue shining through the cloud-cover, and soon he could see the moon again, though it was nearly invisible against the gradually lightening sky.

The sun came out, sailing majestically out from behind the clouds as they cluttered into the east. Outa kept his gaze down, afraid that looking too closely at the sun would damage his eyes in their current state of enhancement. He scanned the forest right and left, still seeing no sign of anyone other than he and Sadao.

"We may be on the wrong track," called Outa.

"No," said Sadao. "We're very close, I can feel his chakra."

Outa lapsed into silence. Then, suddenly, he saw something up ahead. Blurry forms of heat, nestled at the ground. They were warm but not hot, a dull rusty color, fading to blue in places.

"I see something," he said harshly.

Sadao threw back his cloak as he ran, pulled the longbow from his shoulder, and fitted an arrow onto the bowstring. A moment later they were there. Sadao stopped without transition, a jerky halt, and suddenly the tall man was simply standing, bow at the ready, looking down.

It was a body, Outa saw now. He could see it lying beside the tree, head lolling against its chest. He disengaged his bloodline limit and came face to face with a member of the elite ANBU.

A dead one.

Sadao was already looking around the small clearing, and Outa followed his gaze. The trees were sparser here, the grass and bushes growing tall, to waist height in most places. The sun shone down through the gap in the canopy, illuminating the grass a golden yellow.

The dead ANBU operative wore one of the masks that made ANBU so famous and conspicuous at once, this one a garish, carved likeness of a wolf. Blood seeped from beneath it, trickled down the operative's pale neck and stained his dark cloak an oily, glistening black. ANBU was the elite of the elite, the most powerful ninjas in existence -- or so they claimed. Sadao turned and walked into the clearing, brushing aside bloodstained leaves. The swordsman took a slow look around, then looked at Outa, his expression grim.

The other six ANBU operatives were sprawled around the clearing, all dead. Several sported huge, gaping wounds through which sagged their innards. Most were missing limbs or had their throats slashed. One had no wounds at all. Outa turned him over, trying to determine what had killed him, but there was no mark. Finally, he pried off the man's face mask, but that too belied nothing. His eyes were open, clear, his jaw slack.

Sadao was beside Outa as he laid the dead ANBU man back down. "This is more serious than I thought,' said Sadao calmly. "You should head back."

Outa was incensed, but he kept his anger in check. "Be careful who you underestimate. My resolve is not diminished."

"For money, "said Sadao flatly. "You sure you wont regret this?"

"I regret nothing," said Outa automatically. "That is my way. Are you sure _you_ wont regret this? You would risk this much for restaurants and brothels?"

Sadao's expression was dark, unmoving. "I… look, it's not really about that…" he shook his head slowly. "It doesn't have to make sense to you, but its something personal."

Outa frowned. "You know Itachi?"

"No, never met him. Its different. You wouldn't understand." Sadao looked away, removed his hat, scratched fiercely at his scalp. Then, all at once, both of them turned to look at something up and to the right.

A dark figure stood on a tree branch, across the clearing.

Outa felt a stab of elation, a surge of excitement that almost set his hands shaking. It was him. Surely it was him. Uchiha Itachi was right there, finally. Outa dropped a hand slowly to the pouch at his waist and retrieved two throwing knives, slim and less cumbersome than the ninja kunais.

Sadao, on the other hand, did not move. He seemed frozen. Outa flicked his gaze over to the taller man, hoping he hadn't suddenly lost his nerve. But then Sadao reached his arm out and dropped his hat on the ground. "Uchiha Itachi?" he called. "Is that you?"

The figure was silent. Outa watched, morbidly fascinated. He couldn't make out what the figure looked like. And then, all of a sudden, it disappeared. The air around it blurred with motion, and then it vanished into thin air.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Sadao grimly. Outa looked over, but Sadao was no longer looking in the direction of the figure -- he was facing, in fact, in the opposite direction. Outa frowned, then jerked in shock as he saw the young man standing behind them. He had moved that far in that amount of time?

Uchiha Itachi stood only as tall as Outa's nose. The young man's face was smeared with dirt and sweat, his black hair dangling in matted shoulder-length locks. He still wore his Konoha head-protector, Outa saw, the leaf shining in the morning sunlight.

"Yes," he said, his voice deep and smooth. "I am Uchiha Itachi." The sharingan burned in Itachi's eyes, the bloodred pinwheel that spun and focused, locking onto them.

"We're here to kill you," Sadao informed him politely, and Outa wanted to punch his partner in the face. What the hell was wrong with him?

"I know. So were they."

There was something different about Sadao now. Outa couldn't tell exactly what it was, but the man's shoulders seemed hunched, his expression strained, as though every cell in his body longed to burst into motion. Outa looked at Itachi, the bland expression on his face, his relaxed posture. The young murderer still wore his jounin uniform, though it was filthy and torn in places.

"Itachi," said Sadao quietly. "I want to know why, before I kill you. Is it because you're crazy, is that it? What's your reason?"

Itachi ignored him, didn't move, didn't seem to _breathe_. He just stared back at Sadao. Those were the eyes of death, Outa saw. Those were the eyes that drove a man insane with fear, or pain. He was glad Itachi wasn't staring at _him._

And then, Itachi _moved._

He must have moved. Outa didn't really see it, because suddenly Itachi was completely and utterly not there. He thought he heard a little pop, and a rush of air blowing against his ears. What was going on?

He turned swiftly and saw Sadao and Itachi. Both of them had swords out, and both of the swords had hit each other. Itachi's sword was thin and straight, shorter by a hand-span than Sadao's. They had moved perhaps twenty feet from where they were standing before.

All at once, Outa sprang into motion. He flung the knife in his hand at Itachi, watched it whirl through the air with incredible speed, and watched Itachi _twitch_ -- he twitched with movement, and then he'd caught the dagger between two fingers of his left hand, the other still holding his sword fast against Sadao's.

Another _twitch _and both the combatants had moved again, and this time Outa heard the ring of metal-on-metal, a peal of sound that clanged over the forest. And then again, and again. The swords flew at each other with such speed that Outa could only ever catch a glimpse of the steel when the blades met each other.

Another flicker. Itachi disappeared. He reappeared standing on a tree trunk above Sadao, and then fire exploded outwards, a screaming ball of flame that roiled out from Itachi and over Sadao. Outa recoiled against the heat, and he watched the grasses and ferns wither and turn black, then grey as ash.

Sadao was beside Outa again, somehow.

"He's pretty good," said Sadao, as if talking of the weather.

Outa understood: this was too much. They should never have gotten involved in hunting down this ninja. What he had just witnessed was far, _far_ beyond what he thought it was ninjas were capable of. He'd heard of body-flicker, of course, and fire-jutsus. But to actually _see_ it… Outa was humbled, but he did not regret. It was a learning experience. He learned: do not screw with ninjas.

Itachi appeared swirling from the tornado of fire, throwing stars peppering the clearing before his outstretched arm. They came in a cloud. He must have put ten in one hand, at least. Outa thought on that as he rolled to one side, dodging, feeling mud coat the back of his neck. How was that possible? The young ninja must have put two or even three shuriken between each of his fingers in order to throw that many.

He looked up. Sadao hadn't moved, but he hadn't been hit either. Now how did _that_ figure? Itachi appeared, exchanged two swift blows with Sadao, and disappeared again. Outa thought_: I can't even follow this fight with my eyes_. _It's a good thing I didn't let Juri come._

Outa felt a sudden mind-numbing _cold_ blast its way up his back and scratch icy fingers on him. The pain came a second later, a sharp flare, but foremost was the sheer cold. He shivered uncontrollably, at this cold that seemed to spring from inside his chest.

He looked down just as Itachi was sliding his sword back out. It left quickly, through his left lung; he watched it go, wanted to turn and look at Itachi, but he seemed to have no strength. He felt a sharp metallic taste at the back of his throat, a salty liquid that choked him. He coughed once, tried to draw breath, and instead felt pain grip his chest again. He wheezed in agony, and then he felt himself falling, his legs turned to jelly. The ground hit his back hard.

He heard footsteps crushing the grass near where his head lay, and then felt another whoosh of air. There came more clanging of swords, again and again, dancing all around. He wished he could lift his head and watch, but it seemed such a far away thing. Everything gradually faded, and then he was left with only a dream.

This time, he told Kumiko she couldn't come because he couldn't protect her. Couldn't protect even himself. Was too weak. He told his dead wife: "Kumiko, there are people so dangerous in this world that not even I can protect you from them," But she just smiled her smile, and kissed him. "You can't come," he told her. "You'll die."

Kumiko nodded, her face disappointed, but Outa knew he'd saved her. He'd finally done it, and things would be different now. Because he'd fixed it all, made things better. And she would be alive when he woke up. When he woke up, he could go home and find her there.

Outa woke up.

There was a man standing over him. He looked familiar, with his beige cloak and dark hair. _Sadao_. It was Sadao. Outa frowned: _what are you doing here? Where's Kumiko?_

He tried to ask Sadao, but no sound would come out of his mouth. He forced with all his might, but all he got was agony and a hoarse whisper. Sadao leaned closer, his face slack and dead.

"You know," said Sadao. "I wasn't entirely truthful before, when I said I would have never killed a friend in the old days. I asked if you thought he was crazy, eh?"

Outa tried to nod. He didn't know if he succeeded.

"There was a time," Sadao sighed, "when… I dunno. I did everything -- _everything_ for myself. I killed a lot of people. I think… I think I was a lot like Itachi, back then. I dunno. Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Can you be crazy for only a little while?"

Outa didn't have anything to say, and he doubted he could if he wanted to.

"It's been a long road,' said Sadao. "And it's littered with corpses. Why was I like that? Why am I still? Is Itachi crazy? Am I crazy? Are we two sides of the same coin, or… I don't know…" he trailed off.

Outa reached up, his hand seemingly made of lead. Sadao stooped, grabbed Outa's hand in his own. Outa pulled him close, whispered in his ear.

"I lied too."

"Uh-huh?"

"Every day…" gasped Outa against the fire in his chest. "Every day, I regret."

Sadao said nothing.

"I'm going to die," whispered Outa.

"Yeah."

"I'm going to see her again."

Sadao's voice was strained. "Yeah."

"Tell Juri…"

Tell her what? Outa couldn't find the words. What to tell her? _I love you little sister, I always have. I'm sorry I didn't let you come, but I'm glad you didn't. Take care of your brother. Tell our father I tried, but I'm no ninja. Tell him…_

Outa couldn't think of anything else. But when he looked back to his friend Sadao there was nothing. Nothing, and he was slipping back into a warm lake, feeling the depths below him, and the sunlight was shining through the clearing in golden shafts.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

-4-

"Tell Juri…" said Outa, and then he died. Sadao stood over him, holding his hand. He placed the hand on the chest and closed Outa's eyes with two fingers of his right hand. The grey pupils vanished Sadao looked up and to the left, at the black-robed figure standing there amid startling yellow and green shrubs and grasses. The figure wore a mask beneath his hood, and his arms were crossed.

"He's gone," said Sadao.

"A shame," said the ANBU man from behind his coyote mask. The mask was painted wood, swirled with bright colour. Sadao saw one dark pupil through the eye-holes, and one empty blackness -- an eye-patch, maybe. Tufts of silver hair poked out from beneath the black cotton hood. "He didn't need to die. You were foolish to pursue the Uchiha."

"I know," said Sadao dully, with practised boredom. "Listen, can you take his body when you leave with your six? Maybe drop him off in the town south of here? He's got a brother and sister at the clinic there."

The ANBU twitched one black-robed shoulder. His eight comrades were moving silently through the foliage, tending to their dead men, wrapping them into black body bags, zipping them up over slack noses and lips. The masks they removed and put in a sack, most likely for reuse. Sadao found himself craning his neck almost unconsciously, trying to catch a glimpse of the faces beneath. When he saw the young ANBU captain watching him he scowled.

"In any case, you're lucky to be alive," said the ANBU curtly. "I don't know why they brought in bounty hunters to hunt a former ANBU, but it's over now. Just be happy you escaped with your life. The bounty has been cancelled."

"Cancelled?"

"Of course. He's killed an entire ANBU squad. Obviously sending mercenaries in is suicide. If they'd forgone the bounty in the first place, your friend would still be alive." The ANBU sighed, scratching his concealed cheek. "Better late than never."

_"_I guess."

The ANBU turned to look back as his squad continued to work, then he said, "Did you fight him? Itachi?"

"Briefly."

"What was your impression?"

Sadao grinned. "He's a prodigy, certainly. Fast as lightning, accurate like nothing I've ever seen, and knows a wealth of ninjutsu." he paused. "not that I know anything about ninjas."

The ANBU was still. Then, suddenly, Sadao realized he was laughing, low chuckles emerging from under the mask.

"Lightning, huh? I guess he would have to be to beat his cousin Shisui. They called him 'Shisui of the Body Flicker', and still Itachi killed him. His own cousin, and his best friend." The ANBU's voice grew quieter.

"His best friend," said Sadao, voice flat. His teeth ground together.

"Still," said the ANBU grimly. "I once sliced a bolt of lightning in half. Maybe I'll do the same to Itachi."

"I hope you do," said Sadao simply.

They packed up Outa's body in its own black bag, and Sadao himself hefted it over his shoulder. The man was heavy, shorter but beefier than Sadao was. After that they sprang into the foliage and made for the town where Juri and Yuka were. Sadao was still tired from the fight with Itachi, his chakra sluggish and overused. The kid had fought hard but in the end, both of them tired, the arrival of the ANBU had driven him off.

By the time the dilapidated buildings came into view past leaves and branches, he felt that he could finally use some sleep. He ached to fall into a plush bed and surrender to oblivion. But first he had to talk to Outa's kid sister.

_"Tell Juri…"_

Sadao wondered what he was supposed to tell her.

They entered the clinic where Sadao and Outa had left the others a day previously. Sadao felt an inexplicable sense of dread as he slung Outa's corpse off of his shoulder in the cool lobby. He looked up; the same fan as before caught his attention briefly, mesmerising in its slow, steady movement. He looked down. Outa's blood had seeped through the body bag and soaked his cloak.

The silver-haired ANBU captain went to the front desk and flicked the glass with a gloved finger. The woman behind looked up, then did a double take at the assembled people and their charges.

"Do you have a morgue?" the ANBU inquired calmly.

She led them down a long hallway with many doors. It was dark and cool, and the carpet squished under Sadao's tabi-boots. He happened to glance to his left, through a doorway. Yuka was snoring on a cot, Juri beside him with her back to Sadao. Sadao opened his mouth, and a tiny gurgle came out, but then he quickly moved on without a word, without letting her see him.

In the white tiled room, so different from the rest of the clinic, Sadao laid Outa on a slab of metal. The ANBU operatives did the same with their six dead men, and then the nurse came and slid the bodies out of sight, behind the wall. All but one -- the ANBU captain with the coyote mask lingered for a moment with his gloved hand on the chest of one of the dead men. He cleared his throat, then gently slid the drawer shut.

"A familiar scene," said the captain without turning. "Konoha's morgues are full to overflowing. Sisters next to brothers, mothers next to sons, row on row."

"The Uchiha clan," said Sadao.

The ANBU nodded.

"Huh," said Sadao, and turned to leave.

"The bounty is cancelled. You will go home."

"Uh-huh."

The captain turned, but even as he did so Sadao left the room, down the narrow hallway, glancing in every door. When he finally arrived at Juri and Yuka's room, he hesitated, staring at the back of Juri's head, his hand braced against the wooden doorframe. She had golden-red hair and pale skin. And a nice smile, he remembered.

_"Tell Juri…"_

Sadao balled his hand slowly into a fist and clenched his jaw. He looked away. He was unsurprised to note that the coyote mask hung in darkness at his left shoulder, the man having appeared silently beside him.

"Those are your friend's siblings?" he asked lowly.

Juri looked up at his words, squinted sleepily at Sadao. Her face went through a flurry of emotions, first joy, then concern as she saw the blood on his cloak, then finally a slow dawning horror.

"Yeah," said Sadao.

Juri stood unsteadily, and the ANBU melted off down the hallway. She looked back and forth between the bloodstain and Sadao's blank expression. As she opened her mouth, Sadao said: "Outa is dead."

She cried for a long while, sobs wracking her body where she stood. Her hands grasped mindlessly at her face, wiping the tears aside only to be replaced by more. After a while, she sat down in the chair again, heavily. For a half-minute or so, she stopped sobbing and just sat, face twisted and moist and red, and then she leaned forward and cried again.

Some minutes later, Sadao spoke again.

"He told me," Sadao paused, frowning, muscles taut. "He said: 'Tell Juri'."

"Oh," she sobbed. "Me?"

"Yeah." Tears were streaming down Juri's cheeks, and she covered her mouth with a trembling white hand. Sadao left her alone with Yuka.

After that, Sadao went and found a meagre inn to stay at. When he came into the lobby, tracking sand across the wooden floor, the man at the desk asked him to wipe his feet, but he ignored him. The ANBU operatives all sat in cushioned chairs arranged in a small restaurant inside the inn, and Sadao saw their captain look up behind his coyote mask. Sadao went over to them, feeling their invisible stares on him. The restaurant was carpeted, with glass windows looking out into the sandy streets. Sadao could see the clinic a few buildings down the street. He sat down across from the captain, who barely glanced at him.

A waitress who looked like she doubled as a cook came over and tried to take their order, but the captain just stared at her until she blushed and fled, stammering. Then he resumed staring at Sadao.

"If you think I'm going to turn red and run away, you're sorely mistaken," said Sadao.

The captain laughed a little bit. "What do you want?"

Sadao shrugged. "Sleep would be nice. But I wanna know when you guys are going to go kill Itachi."

"I'm not about to tell you that."

"Listen, uh… ANBU, or... what the hell am I supposed to call you?"

"I could tell you my name," said the ANBU blandly. "But first we'd have to make sure they have another space at the morgue. Call me coyote, if you must call me."

"Listen Coyote," said Sadao, leaning forward. Coyote leaned back even as he did so. "If you don't go after that bastard soon, you'll never catch him."

"We will," said Coyote.

"_Soon_ soon," insisted Sadao. "Before I go home, I have to make _sure_ he's gonna get what's coming to him. Tell me you're not gonna leave it 'till its too late."

Coyote sighed. "We leave at dawn. You have my word we'll avenge your friend's death."

"Uh-huh," said Sadao, suppressing a sudden urge to grin. "That's what I wanted to hear." He stood, wincing as fatigue bore down on him in a dark haze. He was light-headed from days of sleep-deprivation. "Good luck, then."

Coyote raised a hand in acknowledgement and turned to the operative next to him, already murmuring lowly. Sadao turned and left the restaurant, leaned heavily over the front desk, letting his eyes fall briefly closed as a wave of light-headedness passed over him. When he opened his eyes, the clerk was staring at him with annoyance.

"I had to sweep up your sand; can't you read the sign?" The clerk pointed, but Sadao did not turn to look. "_Wipe feet_," the clerk insisted.

Sadao's lip curled. Anger shot into him like liquid fire in his veins, a sudden clenching of all his muscles. His chakra coiled like a whip. "Wipe feet," he repeated tensely. His hand was white-knuckled on the tsuka of his sword, but the clerk still stared back insolently. "Wipe _feet_?" snarled Sadao again.

Sadao's hand whipped over the desk, before he could stop it, and grabbed the clerk by his collar. He dragged the man bodily across the counter, until his face was at Sadao's shoulder. "Do you see this blood?" snapped Sadao. "This blood says I have worse problems that _sand on the floor_."

He released the man, who slid back over the counter with a yelp and tumbled to the floor. When he stood again and brushed himself off indignantly, Sadao said: "Do you have a free room?"

"Y-yes," stammered the man, "plenty."

Sadao piled coins onto the counter, not caring if he got change back. He snatched the key from the hand of the clerk and ascended a flight of scarred wooden steps to the rear and left of the restaurant. The room was small but adequate, drapes drawn over the window, a small bed in one corner. First, Sadao showered, running his hands over his body, feeling the layers of sweat and grime there. Briefly, he imagined Juri naked in the shower with him, her fiery hair plastered to her shoulders and chest by water. He tried to think the image away, but it kept coming back to him.

He showered for a full hour, by the clock next to his bed. When he emerged he dried himself and flopped onto the small bed, wrapped in a wet towel. He almost passed out then and there, but he managed to rouse himself. He leapt to his feet, raised a hand to the headache that sudden erupted in his temples, and cast the towel off. Going to where he'd flung his clothing and weapons on the wood floor, he retrieved the katana and took it over to the bed. Naked, he crawled under the covers and set the sword on the bed beside him. The clock read 2:00 PM in glowing red numerals. He would be able to get more than enough sleep, in time.

Coyote had said: "We leave at dawn."

That was fine. Sadao would leave in the night.

* * *

They'd put him on a cold piece of metal and shoved him into a wall, this man she'd spent her life with. When she insisted, tears in her eyes, the nurse had put a comforting hand on her shoulder and led her into the back room. It was a stale room, the floor cold and hard, everything cold and hard. There was a strange smell in the room, not like dead things but chemicals. 

The nurse, her face fixed in a sad kind of smile, opened the door and pulled the metal cot out: on it was a black bag, glistening wet in places. Juri reached a trembling hand out and slowly pulled the black zipper down, down until almost his whole body was visible. Outa's eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. Blood was drying on his lips, and on his chin. She had to tell herself over and over that this was what death looked like: it looked so much like life that she cried for a long time because, inside that body, that bald head she'd known since childhood, was nothing at all anymore but meat, flesh and bones and _matter_. Dead things.

He smelled like sweat. It seemed cruel to her that he smelled now just like he did after one of his workouts or missions, when she would jump on his back or hug him, and he would brush her off with a curt remark. Once he'd taken her for a piggy-back ride, and she smelled his sweat then. Just like now. Sweat was such a live thing than she hated it; she could close her eyes and suddenly feel his shoulder muscles moving under her little arms, hear his breathing slow and heavy.

She tried talking to him, but that didn't work out too well -- she felt stupid, hated hearing her own voice loudly in the room full of people who would never hear it. She asked him what he had wanted Sadao to tell her. There had been _something_ that he'd wanted her to know, and in a way that alone comforted her. Maybe he'd meant to tell her he loved her. Or maybe that he was sorry he'd always been so cold.

That didn't sound like Outa. He'd probably meant to tell her to be good to their father, learn to talk less and listen always, and meditate; all the things she'd never do but he did. She tried to suppress a sudden urge to giggle, but a smile crept out: _that_ sounded like Outa.

She felt immediately ashamed, and tried to squash her smile. But it got all the larger as she remembered more and more oddities about him, his face when he was stifling a smile like he always did, how his snores were louder than anything else about him. Then she started to cry again, because he was _right here_, and yet he _wasn't_. And he would never do that stuff again.

The last time someone she knew died it was Outa's wife Kumiko. She hadn't known her that well, but she'd seen Outa smile and laugh around her -- that was enough to know she was a person of supernatural goodness. Outa hadn't cried at the funeral, but she'd never seen him smile since. At that funeral, Juri remembered, she'd been thinking about _time_. It was a concept that she'd never really considered before then: she was only eleven when Kumiko died, and death was new to her. She'd found herself remembering Kumiko, what she looked like, what her voice sounded like, the way she smiled, moved, her favourite foods. But that stuff had all only existed _before_. Juri remembered it all, but it wasn't really _there_ anymore, was it? And that was what she wondered about time; what was the difference between _then_ and _now_? Why couldn't then be now?

Now that Outa was dead, had all the things he'd done, all the things about him died as well? They were only in her mind. She could almost convince herself that he'd just been some dream she'd had all her life, except that his body was right here. Juri felt eleven again, wondering why it was that time could be such a cruel thing. Over time, even memories would fade; she didn't remember Kumiko's voice anymore, and every time she tried to call up an image of her face it ended up looking like that of other women she knew.

She _wouldn't _forget Outa. She _wouldn't._ But she knew it wasn't her choice. One day she would die too, of old age maybe, and then who would remember him? Who would remember _anyone_, generations later? She cried again, for a long time.

Some time later, Juri went back to where Yuka slept. Her only brother left. She sat by his bedside for a while, and the nurse came in and brought her a handkerchief. Juri noted with some surprise that tears were still running down her cheeks, soaking into her shirt. As the nurse turned with her sad smile, Juri grabbed her wrist. "How do you do this job?"

"I'm sorry?" the nurse was young but older than Juri, maybe in her mid-thirties. She had brown shoulder length hair and a mole beside her lip.

"Doesn't it… doesn't it depress you?"

"A little bit," the nurse's smile was unwavering, rote. "I don't see too many, um, bodies, in a town like this. This is the fullest our mortuary has been in years."

"Oh."

Juri looked back to Yuka, tears suddenly blurring her vision. She mopped at them with the handkerchief. "Is he g-gonna be okay?"

The nurse came and put her hand gently on Juri's shoulder. She could hear her smile in her voice even if she couldn't see it. "Your brother will be fine." Her voice was warm, reassuring. "Now, I think you should really try to get some sleep. We have a couple of extra cots here, but I think you'd sleep better away from this place, in a nice bed. Don't worry about your little brother, he'll be fine, he's just resting. And _you _should too."

"Uh-huh?" Juri sniffled. Sadao said that a lot, she remembered. Probably because he had nothing else to say. She understood, she supposed.

"There should be a man at the desk of the inn just down the road, even though it's after midnight," said the nurse softly, rubbing Juri's shoulder. "Do you have ten ryo? That'll get you a nice clean room for the night."

"Yeah," said Juri. She stood, took a long look down at Yuka. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell. She would have given anything to see Outa breathing like that.

The nurse lent her a blanket to wrap around herself; sure enough, the night air was chilly when she stepped out of the clinic. The moonlight played over the sand on the road as Juri trudged along, watching her feet move as if in a dream. She looked up: the moon was only three quarters there -- _well_, she frowned, it was actually all there, but a little bit of it was darkened by the shadow of the planet. Ever since Outa had explained that to her when she was little, she'd always squinted hard at the moon, trying to see the near-invisible outline where the black of shadow met the black of space. She couldn't quite see it tonight.

The light inside the hotel was yellow and harsh. She squinted when she first came in, noting the sign that told her to wipe her feet. She knocked them against the rug and went over to the desk, but nobody was there. She tapped a finger on the little bell on the desk, sending out a weak chime. It only took a minute for the clerk to arrive, though, from a back room. He sleepily wiped his eyes and smiled at her.

"Evening," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"A room, please," she said, and then, "were you sleeping?"

"Yup," he said with a vague grin. He scratched a cheek and felt clumsily under the desk. "I'm the only desk guy they've got, so I gotta do night shift too. Usually nobody checks in at night, but I'm a light sleeper anyway. One touch of that bell and I'm up and alert. Well," he laughed, blinking owlishly, "not _alert, _maybe."

She laughed with him, until she remembered how sad she was. She gave him ten ryo, and got a brass room key with a strange square key-chain made of some silver metal.

"Up the stairs over there,' the clerk pointed, "third room on your right. And now it's back to sleep for me," he said cheerfully. "Sleep tight."

"You too," she smiled at him, and he disappeared back into the room.

She wearily crossed the floor and ascended the steps. They were narrow and wooden, scratched and worn by countless pairs of boots. She was looking forward to falling into bed, or maybe a hot shower first. If she slept, she might dream of Outa, and she didn't want that at all -- but if she was lucky she'd have no dreams… she'd never wanted blackness and silence so much in her life, it made her almost sick, because until this moment she'd never really understood suicide. Maybe it was a need to sleep forever, a tiredness incurable by a soft bed.

As she approached her room, she heard somebody unlocking the door of the one to the left of it. She hesitated, her key in hand, and then the other door swung inwards with a breathy creak. Sadao stepped out of the room, not seeing her, fiddling with the strap of his katana. He finally stuffed the sword into his cloak -- she could still see the bloodstain there -- and swung the door shut with care. He eased it closed, obviously trying to make as little noise as possible, and it clicked shut almost inaudibly. She saw him nod faintly to himself, as though in satisfaction, and then he turned around. He saw her, and jerked in surprise, his eyes going wide momentarily. His hand shot inside his cloak, but then he recognized her.

"It's you," he told her, as if she didn't already know who she was.

"Yeah, it is," she rolled her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Leaving,' he said, and made as though to push past her.

"Wait," she said when he was close enough to touch. "I want to _talk_ to you. You were there when he died, I have to ask you stuff."

"Maybe when I come back."

"From where? Oh… are you going after Itachi again?" She hated the name, hated Itachi. Maybe Sadao would kill him, but most likely he would be killed just like Outa. She looked down as tears filled her eyes again.

"Hey," said Sadao, more gently, "it's gonna be alright."

"Does that mean anything?" she asked, sniffing, reaching to brush the tears away.

He paused. She looked up at him, and he was staring at the wall, his jaw set.

"No," he said.

"Why do you even wanna go after him again?" she asked. "He'll just kill you. What good does it do?"

"I dunno," said Sadao dully.

She hit his shoulder with her open palm. "You never _say_ anything."

"I guess that means I only say what I mean."

She glared at him. "You said 'it's gonna be alright'."

He shrugged his shoulders. "That meant nothing, remember?"

"Right," she looked down, annoyed.

Sadao started to walk past her again, but this time she caught his arm, her hand closing over his cloak only a few inches below the bloodstain. He was cold and hard, just like the room full of bodies.

She shuddered. "You remind me of death."

She saw that his eyes were brown, because they were staring right at hers. His collar obscured his mouth and nose from this angle, but his eyes were blank and placid.

He grunted, "Uh-huh," and left. She watched his cloak trail over the narrow wooden steps as he disappeared down the stairs. His footfalls were silent but the steps creaked beneath the weight.


End file.
